Phylliss face cleared up in an instant, as she brought the slate to her brother.
What is this? said he; I do not understand.
Compound Addition, said Phyllis, I did one with Emily yesterday, and this is the second.
Oh! these are marks between the pounds, shillings, and pence, said Claude, I took them for elevens; well, I do not wonder at your troubles, I could not do this sum as it is set.
Could not you, indeed? cried Phyllis, quite delighted.
No, indeed, said Claude. Suppose we set it again, more clearly; but how is this? When I was in the schoolroom we always had a sponge fastened to the slate.
Yes, said Phyllis, I had one before Eleanor went, but my string broke, and I lost it, and Emily always forgets to give me another. I will run and wash the slate in the nursery; but how shall we know what the sum is?
Why, I suppose I may look at Adas slate, though you must not, said Claude, laughing to himself at poor little honest simplicity, as he applied himself to cut a new point to her very stumpy slate-pencil, and she scampered away, and returned in a moment with her clean slate.
Oh, how nice and fresh it all looks! said she as he set down the clear large figures. I cannot think how you can do it so evenly.
Now, Phyl, do not let the pencil scream if you can help it.
Claude found that Phylliss great difficulty was with the farthings. She could not understand the fractional figures, and only knew thus far, that Emily said it never meant four.
Claude began explaining, but his first attempt was far too scientific. Phyllis gave a desponding sigh, looking so mystified, that he began to believe that she was hopelessly dull, and to repent of having offered to help her; but at last, by means of dividing a card into four pieces, he succeeded in making her comprehend him, and her eyes grew bright with the pleasure of understanding.
Even then the difficulties were not conquered, her addition was very slow, and dividing by twelve and twenty seemed endless work; at length the last figure of the pounds was set down, the slate was compared with Adelines, and the sum pronounced to be right. Phyllis capered up to the kitten and tossed it up in the air in her joy, then coming slowly back to her brother, she said with a strange, awkward air, hanging down her head, Claude, Ill tell you what
Well, what? said Claude.
I should like to kiss you.
Then away she bounded, clattered down stairs, and flew across the lawn to tell every one she met that Claude had helped her to do her sum, and that it was quite right.
Did you expect that it would be too hard for him, Phyl? said Jane, laughing.
No, said Phyllis, but he said he could not do it as it was set.
And whose fault was that? said Jane.
Oh! but he showed me how to set it better, said Phyllis, and he said that when he learnt the beginning of fractions, he thought them as hard as I do.
Fractions! said Jane, you do not fancy you have come to fractions yet! Fine work you will make of them when you do!
In the evening, as soon as the children were gone to bed, Jane took a paper out of her work-basket, saying, There, Emily, is my account of Phyls scrapes through this whole week; I told you I should write them all down.
How kind! muttered Claude.
Regardless of her brother, who had not looked up from his book, Jane began reading her list of poor Phylliss misadventures. On Monday she tore her frock by climbing a laurel-tree, to look at a blackbirds nest.
I gave her leave, said Emily. Rachel had ordered her not to climb; and she was crying because she could not see the nest that Wat Greenwood had found.
On Tuesday she cried over her French grammar, and tore a leaf out of the old spelling-book.
That was nearly out before, said Emily, Maurice and Redgie spoilt that long ago.
I do not know of anything on Wednesday, but on Thursday she threw Ada down the steps out of the nursery.
Oh! that accounts for the dreadful screaming that I heard, said Claude; I forgot to ask the meaning of it.
I am sure it was Phyl that was the most dismayed, and cried the loudest, said Lily.
That she always does, said Jane. On Friday we had an uproar in the schoolroom about her hemming, and on Saturday she tumbled into a wet ditch, and tore her bonnet in the brambles; on Sunday, she twisted her ancles together at church.
Well, there I did chance to observe her, said Lily, there seemed to be a constant struggle between her ancles and herself, they were continually coming lovingly together, but were separated the next moment.
And to-day this sum, said Jane; seven scrapes in one week! I really am of opinion, as Rachel says when she is angry, that school is the best place for her.
I think so too, said Claude.
I do not know, said Emily, she is very troublesome, but
Oh, Claude! cried Lily, you do not mean that you would have that poor dear merry Master Phyl sent to school, she would pine away like a wild bird in a cage; but papa will never think of such a thing.
If I thought of her being sent to school, said Claude, it would be to shield her fromthe rule of love.
Oh! you think we are too indulgent, said Emily; perhaps we are, but you know we cannot torment a poor child all day long.
If you call the way you treat her indulgent, I should like to know what you call severe.
What do you mean, Claude? said Emily.
I call your indulgence something like the tender mercies of the wicked, said Claude. On a fine day, when every one is taking their pleasure in the garden, to shut an unhappy child up in the schoolroom, with a hard sum that you have not taken the trouble to teach her how to do, and late in the day, when no ones head is clear for difficult arithmetic
Hard sum do you call it? said Jane.
Indeed I explained it to her, said Emily.
And well she understood you, said Claude.
She might have learnt if she had attended, said Emily; Ada understood clearly, with the same explanation.
And do not you be too proud of the effect of your instructions, Claude, said Jane, for when honest Phyl came into the garden, she did not know farthings from fractions.
And pray, Mrs. Senior Wrangler, said Claude, will you tell me where is the difference between a half-penny and half a penny?
After a good laugh at Janes expense, Emily went on, Now, Claude, I will tell you how it happened; Phyllis is so slow, and dawdles over her lessons so long, that it is quite a labour to hear her; Ada is quick enough, but if you were to hear Phyllis say one column of spelling, you would know what misery is. Then before she has half finished, the clock strikes one, it is time to read, and the lessons are put off till the afternoon. I certainly did not know that she was about her sum all that time, or I would have sent her out as I did on Saturday.
And the reading at one is as fixed as fate, said Claude.
Oh, no! said Jane, when we were about old Russell, we did not begin till nearly two, but since we have been reading this book, Lily will never let us rest till we begin; she walks up and down, and hurries and worries and
Yes, said Emily, in a murmuring voice, we should do better if Lily would not make such a point of that one thing; but she never minds what else is cut short, and she never thinks of helping me. It never seems to enter her head how much I have on my hands, and no one does anything to help me.
Oh, Emily! you never asked me, said Lily.
I knew you would not like it, said Emily. No, it is not my way to complain, people may see how to help me if they choose to do it.
Lily, Lily, take care, said Claude, in a low voice; is not the rule you admire, the rule of love of yourself?
Oh, Claude! returned Lily, do not say so, you know it was Emily that I called an example of it, not myself, and see how forbearing she has been. Now I see that I am really wanted, I will help. It must be love, not duty, that calls me to the schoolroom, for no one ever said that was my province.
Poor duty! you give it a very narrow boundary.
Lilias, who, to say the truth, had been made more careful of her own conduct, by the wish to establish her principle, really betook herself to the schoolroom for an hour every morning, with a desire to be useful. She thought she did great things in undertaking those tasks of Phylliss which Emily most disliked. But Lilias was neither patient nor humble enough to be a good teacher, though she could explain difficult rules in a sensible way. She could not, or would not, understand the difference between dulness and inattention; her sharp hasty manner would frighten away all her pupils powers of comprehension; she sometimes fell into the great error of scolding, when Phyllis was doing her best, and the poor childs tears flowed more frequently than ever.
Emilys gentle manner made her instructions far more agreeable, though she was often neither clear nor correct in her explanations; she was contented if the lessons were droned through in any manner, so long as she could say they were done; she disliked a disturbance, and overlooked or half corrected mistakes rather than cause a cry. Phyllis naturally preferred being taught by her, and Lily was vexed and unwilling to persevere. She went to the schoolroom expecting to be annoyed, created vexation for herself, and taught in anything but a loving spirit. Still, however, the thought of Claude, and the wish to do more than her duty, kept her constant to her promise, and her love of seeing things well done was useful, though sadly counterbalanced by her deficiency in temper and patience.
CHAPTER V
VILLAGE GOSSIP
The deeds we do, the words we say,
Into still air they seem to fleet;
We count them past,
But they shall last.
Soon after Easter, Claude went to Oxford. He was much missed by his sisters, who wanted him to carve for them at luncheon, to escort them when they rode or walked, to hear their music, talk over their books, advise respecting their drawings, and criticise Lilys verses. A new subject of interest was, however, arising for them in the neighbours who were shortly expected to arrive at Broom Hill, a house which had lately been built in a hamlet about a mile and a half from the New Court.
These new comers were the family of a barrister of the name of Weston, who had taken the house for the sake of his wife, her health having been much injured by her grief at the loss of two daughters in the scarlet fever. Two still remained, a grown-up young lady, and a girl of eleven years old, and the Miss Mohuns learnt with great delight that they should have near neighbours of their own age. They had never had any young companions as young ladies were scarce among their acquaintance, and they had not seen their cousin, Lady Florence Devereux, since they were children.
It was with great satisfaction that Emily and Lilias set out with their father to make the first visit, and they augured well from their first sight of Mrs. Weston and her daughters. Mrs. Weston was alone, her daughters being out walking, and Lily spent the greater part of the visit in silence, though her mind was made up in the first ten minutes, as she told Emily on leaving the house, that Miss Westons tastes were in complete accordance with her own.
Rapid judgment, said Emily. Love before first sight. But Mrs. Weston is a very sweet person.
And, Emily, did you see the music-book open at Angels ever bright and fair? If Miss Weston sings that as I imagine it!
How could you see what was in the music-book at the other end of the room? I only saw it was a beautiful piano. And what handsome furniture! it made me doubly ashamed of our faded carpet and chairs, almost as old as the house itself.
Emily! said Lily, in her most earnest tones, I would not change one of those dear old chairs for a kings ransom!
The visit was in a short time returned, and though it was but a formal morning call, Lilias found her bright expectations realised by the sweetness of Alethea Westons manners, and the next time they met it was a determined thing in her mind that, as Claude would have said, they had sworn an eternal friendship.
She had the pleasure of lionising the two sisters over the Old Court, telling all she knew and all she imagined about the siege, Sir Maurice Mohun, and his faithful servant, Walter Greenwood. Miss Weston, said she in conclusion, have you read Old Mortality?
Yes, said Alethea, amused at the question.
Because they say I am as bad as Lady Margaret about the kings visit.
I have not heard the story often enough to think so, said Miss Weston, I will warn you if I do.
In the meantime Phyllis and Adeline were equally charmed with Marianne, though shocked at her ignorance of country manners, and, indeed, Alethea was quite diverted with Lilys pity at the discovery that she had never before been in the country in the spring. What, she cried, have you never seen the tufts of red on the hazel, nor the fragrant golden palms, and never heard the blackbird rush twittering out of the hedge, nor the first nightingales note, nor the nightjars low chirr, nor the chattering of the rooks? O what a store of sweet memories you have lost! Why, how can you understand the beginning of the Allegro?
Both the Miss Westons had so much pleasure in making acquaintance with these delights, as quite to compensate for their former ignorance, and soon the New Court rang with their praises. Mr. Mohun thought very highly of the whole family, and rejoiced in such society for his daughters, and they speedily became so well acquainted, that it was the ordinary custom of the Westons to take luncheon at the New Court on Sunday. On her side, however, Alethea Weston felt some reluctance to become intimate with the young ladies of the New Court. She was pleased with Emilys manners, interested by Lilys earnestness and simplicity, and thought Jane a clever and amusing little creature, but even their engaging qualities gave her pain, by reminding her of the sisters she had lost, or by making her think how they would have liked them. A country house and neighbours like these had been the objects of many visions of their childhood, and now all the sweet sights and sounds around her only made her think how she should have enjoyed them a year ago. She felt almost jealous of Mariannes liking for her new friends, lest they should steal her heart from Emma and Lucy; but knowing that these were morbid and unthankful feelings, she struggled against them, and though she missed her sisters even more than when her mother and Marianne were in greater need of her attention, she let no sign of her sorrowful feeling appear, and seeing that Marianne was benefited in health and spirits, by intercourse with young companions, she gave no hint of her disinclination to join in the walks and other amusements of the Miss Mohuns.
She also began to take interest in the poor people. By Mrs. Westons request, Mr. Devereux had pointed out the families which were most in need of assistance, and Alethea made it her business to find out the best way of helping them. She visited the village school with Lilias, and when requested by her and by the Rector to give her aid in teaching, she did not like to refuse what might be a duty, though she felt very diffident of her powers of instruction. Marianne, like Phyllis and Adeline, became a Sunday scholar, and was catechised with the others in church. Both Mr. Mohun and his nephew thought very highly of the family, and the latter was particularly glad that Lily should have some older person to assist her in those parish matters which he left partly in her charge.